This was written for the Guess the Author Challenge over on the Live Journal community mfuwss, where the prompt was "Illya tests a gadget". It's a Missing Scene from the Ultimate Computer Affair.
Bluffing
"It's very simple, Salty. All you have to do is push the service cart in, and then hold them off with the bomb long enough for Illya and me to make a surprise entrance. You don't have to worry about the bomb exploding - Illya's gadget will make sure it doesn't go off, even if you accidentally press the trigger."
I swallowed hard and looked past his shoulder, to where Mr Kuryakin was hunched over the desk, constructing something out of paper clips and rubber bands. It looked like an awfully slender thread from which to hang my life. Especially since, the way my hands were shaking, it wasn't so much a matter of "if" I pressed the trigger as "when".
"I don't think I can do it," I said in a whisper. "I'm sorry, Napoleon, I really want to help, but I'm just so scared."
He bent his head towards me, and his eyes were warm and kind.
"Salty, you're a hero," he said softly. "You walk into hell-holes and tell evil to stop what it's doing. You take on the devil himself on a daily basis, and I don't believe for a second that it doesn't scare you rigid. But you do it."
"Yes, but this is different," I almost wailed. "I'm going to be carrying a bomb!"
"Don't think about the situation," advised Napoleon, "Just concentrate on the task at hand. It's like crossing a ravine on a rope bridge - you focus on the crossing, and not what's underneath you."
"That's easy for you to say," I moaned. "You're an UNCLE agent, you're not afraid of anything!"
He smiled at that, an oddly rueful smile. "Oh, we're afraid of things," he said. "Take Illya here - he's terrified of dogs. The climbing-the-walls type of terrified. It's really quite funny to watch him when there's a dog around."
I looked at Mr Kuryakin again, the bomb in his hand, utterly absorbed in his tinkering, and I thought about what Napoleon had said about hell-holes. It was true that I walked into them, but only as a visitor. Mr Kuryakin had gone in as a prisoner, a prey to whatever violations of human rights they chose to inflict on him, and he hadn't seemed afraid at all. If anything, he'd looked as if he was enjoying himself. I couldn't imagine him being frightened of dogs.
"What about you?" I asked. "What are you afraid of?"
Napoleon looked deep into my eyes. I felt myself melt a little inside, which was dreadfully inappropriate, given the circumstances. Then he said "If you really want to know, I'm frightened of guns."
"That doesn't count!" I said. "No-one likes being shot at."
"Yes, but I'm frightened of doing the shooting," he said, with an ironic little shrug of his shoulders. "I hate the way guns go bang, and the way they jerk in your hand. I always think they're going to explode in my face."
If it had been hard to believe Mr Kuryakin was afraid of dogs, this stretched the bounds of credulity until they snapped, but before I could say anything Mr Kuryakin interrupted.
"All right, I'm done. Get behind that sofa, will you? I want to make sure it works before I give it to her."
I ducked behind the sofa, and Napoleon followed me. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I wanted to put my fingers in my ears, but I didn't, because what would that say about me? Here I was, scared to death of accidentally setting off the bomb, and here was Mr Kuryakin, risking his life to make sure that didn't happen - and I wanted to avoid hearing him get blown up? There are some things you can't hide from, because it's just not right.
I was still waiting for the bang when Mr Kuryakin said "Aren't you two ever going to come out? What are you up to down there, Napoleon?"
I glanced up at Napoleon, and just for a moment there was relief written all over his face. I realized that he'd been just as afraid as me that the gadget wouldn't work, but he hadn't let it show at all - any more than he seemed afraid of his gun.
We crawled out from behind the sofa. My throat felt as dry as the Gobi desert and I knew my voice would wobble, but I said as steadily as I could, "I'll do it."
"Good girl," said Napoleon, and his eyes were bright with what I hope was admiration. "Then let's get on with it. As long as you don't let them see how you really feel, everything will work out fine."